Star City 2046
by NinjaRiderWriter
Summary: When the Legends crash land in the year 2046, Sara Lance discovered just how terrible the future can be. The home she had sought to save from Vandal Savage was no more. Now it is just the dark husk of a broken shell, controlled by a madman whose mask bears a haunting resemblance to Deathstroke. Not to mention the different Green Arrow and an old, disillusioned Oliver Queen.
1. Chapter 1

**This is inspired by the Legends of Tomorrow episode with my own take on the situation. I wrote this as a standalone one-shot, but if the response is positive and people want to read more I might make it into an actual story, most likely an AU.**

 **This is a response to Changingdestinty40's challenge to create more Sara/Oliver stories. I have started to write more Canarrow stories outside of my main story, the Arrow and the Canary, and will hopefully begin to post them onto the site when I feel like they are good enough. I recommend to anyone reading this who ship Canarrow to write their own stories or one-shots.**

* * *

The Foundry was abandoned. Felicity's beloved computers, which had been the best of the best in 2016, were covered in a thick layer of dust, and anything else, from furniture to random equipment, were enveloped by musty tarps. The glass cases that had once proudly shown the outfits of Team Arrow, and where Sara's own outfit had once been, were broken and empty. It looked as though no living soul had been down here in decades.

" _Whoever is there, get out!"_ The voice was robotic, filtering itself out in harsh echoes. And yet, despite the mechanical tone, Sara recognized it. But yet it couldn't be; Connor had said that he was dead. Shining her flashlight towards the source of the sound, Sara searched for the speaker, mouth dry and heart pounding.

Connor aimed his bow, Rip pulled out his futuristic pistol; both looked ready for a fight. But Sara just froze in place, searching for the speaker.

" _I said get out!"_ The voice screamed. _"Whoever you are, get out!"_ There was movement in the darkness of the abandoned Foundry. The harsh amber lights of the flashlights provided to them by Connor Hawke swerved before settling on an approaching figure.

Sara's heart seemed to shudder to a halt as Oliver Queen emerged from the dark shadows, bearing a shotgun that was aimed right at her.

Sara dared not believe it. "Oliver?" Besides her, Rip cocked back the trigger to his gun, its sights aimed right at Oliver Queen's chest.

It couldn't be Oliver. It didn't seem possible, and yet it was.

Oliver was… _old._

His once sandy blond hair had faded away into soft, receding waves of gray, his prominent jawline hidden underneath a thick beard. There were wrinkles on his face that had not been present when she had last seen him. His face was worn and weathered. When had she last seen him? To Sara it only seemed like a month since she had bid her vigilante friend farewell outside the _Waverider_. But the man before her seemed to have aged decades in her absence.

 _It_ has _been decades._ Sara realized, feeling a bit sick, _for Oliver Queen._

It was 2046. This was Oliver Queen's future staring right at her. A future that had yet to happen back home, but had already happened here.

Old Oliver's surprise and reaction was almost comically dramatic. He openly gawped at her, his eyes nearly bugging out his skull before it faded away into a weary acceptance. "Hello, Sara." He greeted gruffly, his voice more gravelly than ever. Slowly, almost tiredly, Old Oliver lowered his shotgun. When had Oliver started to use firearms? Where was his bow? "Long time no see."

Old Oliver stepped closer, now fully visible in the light. Sara's eyes trailed downward, inspecting everything about this new, yet intimately familiar, version of her friend. She immediately found another new change, one that she hadn't noticed before.

 _Oh._

His left arm was gone. Severed at the shoulder, leaving behind a useless lump of scarred flesh. She could see the scar tissue poking out from the loose sleeve of his t-shirt. That was why he had a firearm; he couldn't use his bow anymore.

There was an odd roaring her ears, like waves crashing against the inside of her head. She didn't hear anything but the roar, was only aware of one thing that mattered at the moment, her and Rip's mission be damned.

Someone had taken his arm; Ollie's arm was gone. Someone had _mutilated_ her friend.

Red flickered in the corners of her vision, followed by brief bursts of dark spots that seemed to burn into her retinas like the flare of a supernova. She didn't know if the sudden rise of darkness rearing back its head was a result of her resurrection from the Pits, or just Sara herself.

Honestly, at the moment she just didn't care.

Sara all but leapt at the man in her haste to embrace him, wrapping her arms around his battered body and pulling him in so close she could have bust his ribs. She furrowed her face against his chest, all the anxiety and nerves that had been steadily building within her receding away into the corners of her mind, because all that mattered right now was Oliver.

He smelled different now, just as he looked different, but he still felt the same. It was the same heartbeat, still the same strong pulse that had lulled her to sleep so many times. This was _Ollie._ Her lover. Her friend. It was still Oliver. It was still him.

Oliver, although hesitant for a second, returned the hug happily, resting his chin on the top of her head, his warm breath tickling the back of Sara's neck. "Sara…" Oliver whispered, his voice catching ever so slightly. His arm tightened around her with a desperate strength. "You're _here._ You're really here."

Reluctantly pulling herself out of his grip, Sara stared up at the aged version of her former lover with confusion. "What do you mean 'I'm here'?" Her hands somehow found themselves cradling Oliver's jaw, one finger lightly stroking the soft, gray bristles.

Oliver's wrinkled hand placed itself on one of hers, his own fingers softly stroking small circles on her hand. He looked so sad as he stared at her with those watery blue eyes, looking far more weary and broken than she had ever seen in a single man.

"Ollie? What do you mean?" For some reason she feared his response.

"Thirty years ago, you and Ray hopped onto a space ship with _him_ to save the future _,_ " Oliver jerked his head over at Rip, a dark emotion gleaming in his eyes as his lips curled into a snarl. Sara nearly jumped at the venom in Oliver's voice; it was so thick with hatred and anger that it made the man before her even more unfamiliar. Oliver's glare and scowl slowly fell away, replaced by nothing more than sadness. "And you never came back."

Eyes burning as tears began to swell, Sara just stood there, unable to understand. Her thoughts were so muddled and unfocused when staring into the sad eyes of an old Oliver Queen that it was difficult to truly comprehend what he had said. Slowly, his words began to sink in, burrowing themselves into her like greedy parasites.

It just couldn't be. They had a _time machine_ , for Christ's sake! Once they beat Savage, Rip had promised her and Ray that he would drop them off back in their timeline. Even if their mission took months as they traveled throughout the world's history, Ray and Sara would be dropped off a week or so after they had left on the _Waverider._ It was a time machine; they could be dropped off five seconds after they had originally left if they so desired it.

But they… her and Ray… hadn't come back five seconds later. Or even a week later.

She had never come back _._

"O-Ollie…" She croaked out, reaching for him desperately.

"Was the future worth saving, Sara?" Oliver asked her sadly.

Worth saving? She hadn't even _saved_ it yet. Every time the Legends had come close to victory, Savage always managed to pull a fast one and escape, leaving her ragtag team to lick their wounds and rekindle their damaged pride. Vandal was still too dangerous, too crafty, and too powerful to be beaten just yet. The Legends weren't even close to fulfilling the mission they had set out on. The future wasn't safe yet.

 _And this_ _is the result of our failure._

The realization was like a sharp slap in the face.

She wanted to speak, to try and somehow answer Oliver's question, but someone else spoke before she even tries to begin.

"I thought you were dead…" the voice came from behind them. Oliver looked away from her and focused on something behind her. A quick turn around revealed that Connor Hawke still had his arrow aimed directly at Oliver's chest, if not for the situation Sara would have been impressed that he had been able to keep the bowstring steady for so long as she and Oliver reunited. The young dark-skinned vigilante looked furious.

Oliver seemed to age another decade under the furious gaze of his copycat, some unknown emotion flashing in his eyes before dying out. He looked very tired at that moment. "Put the arrow down, John, you're embarrassing yourself."

"John?" Rip and Sara asked at the same time as 'Connor' reluctantly lowered his bow and arrow. Rip asked because of the vigilante's earlier introduction, smelling out the lie. Sara, on the other hand, asked because the name held importance to her.

"John Diggle Jr." Oliver corrected himself.

Sara whipped her head around to openly gape at the younger Green Arrow, at Diggle's _son_. John Jr. avoided her gaze, instead focusing at his predecessor. "That's not my name, not anymore."

"John…"

"I'm not fit to use my father's name!" John Diggle Jr. cried out, snapping at Oliver. "Not after I failed him, not after I watched him die and I could do nothing to stop it!"

Diggle was _dead._ Sara stumbled under the horrible revelation. John was dead.

Who else was dead in this dark, horrible future? How many good men and women had died?

Her father, Laurel, Nyssa, Roy, Thea, Felicity, Barry. Where were they? Were they all dead too? Dead like Diggle?

Sara wanted to cry out at the injustice.

"I'm not the same boy you used to know, Oliver. John Diggle Jr. died when he failed his father and city." The young archer stated. "I'm Connor Hawke now."

Oliver's eyes closed shut tightly, debating, before opening them slowly. "You're angry at me. You might even hate me, but please, _John,_ listen to me. I know exactly what you're feeling. I lost my father too, and I failed both him and Star City countless times. Don't let this darkness consume you, don't let it change you like it did me."

Connor didn't look convinced, if anything Oliver's speech made him angrier. "You didn't fail this city, Oliver. You abandoned it."

Oliver reared back as though he had been struck.

"I thought you were dead. Everyone thought you were dead." Connor, or John, accused. Oliver looked away, unable to meet the younger man's angry gaze. "And with you dead," Connor continued, "Someone had to rise up and take your place. I'm the Green Arrow. That's all I'll ever be now."

"So you won't take your father's name, but you'll wear another man's armor and take his identity?" Oliver asked.

"Someone has to. Because last time I checked, _you_ _were dead._ Everyone thought you were dead!" Connor spat out, his body practically shaking with uncontrollable rage. He looked positively betrayed.

"I've been trying to hold this city by myself, because I thought you were gone." There were unshed tears in Connor's eyes, held back only by sheer force of will. Sara suddenly saw just how young the vigilante was, more a boy than a man. And he had been forced to try and save a city that could have never been saved with no one to help him. He had been the only thing left to defend the people of Star City from Grant Wilson, because Oliver had been hiding under the pretense of being dead.

 _Ollie, how could you?_

Wilting under the gaze of the three intruders, Oliver began to slink backwards towards the shadows. "You should go." His eyes flickered to Sara, staring at her and only her as though no one else mattered. "Leave."

"Hold on now-" Rip said angrily.

"You can't just expect us-" Connor began.

" _Go!"_ The shotgun was raised, leveled at Rip. Connor raised his bow again, ready to fire. Rip raised his arms in surrender, staring at the shotgun nervously. Sara didn't do anything. She eyed the gun, noticing the finger against the trigger wasn't shaking. Oliver wouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger. It appeared that his promise to never kill again had died along with Star City.

"Guys… Do as he says."

Both men argued, but Sara didn't even care enough to listen anymore.

Screw the mission. Screw Rip. Screw the Legends. Sara didn't give a damn right now, because Oliver needed her, even if he was too stubborn to admit it. She wouldn't abandon him. Not again.

"Rip, head back to the ship."

"But the device-"

"Screw the device! If you want it so much, go find one somewhere else." Sara snapped out.

Rip looked at her in protest, mouth open, before he closed it shut. Apparently he decided that it would most likely be better for his health to keep quiet.

"Connor, I know I can't order you around, but I can still ask."

Hawke nodded his head slowly, though he still looked torn. "We're not done yet," he warned Oliver as he left the Foundry with Rip reluctantly following.

"Sara-" Oliver began to argue.

"You'll have to try and throw me out yourself," Sara interrupted him, her hand falling to her side to brush against her holstered Kali stick. "I don't think I need to remind you that I've taken you on before and won, and that not even mentioning that you now have the body of an old man."

Oliver's lips twitched into the smallest of smiles. "A ripped, sexy old man." He argued.

"Debatable."

This time Oliver actually laughed. It was throaty and hoarse, as though he hadn't laughed in a very long time, but it was genuine. "God, I've missed you." He looked at her with such fondness it practically made her heart melt.

There was a tightness in her throat that refused to go away. "I missed you too."

She walked the distance between them swiftly, before she wrapped her arms around him, nestling her head against the crook of his neck. "Just… don't talk…" she pleaded with a sigh, closing her eyes shut as she enjoyed his warmth and presence. "Lets just pretend for a minute that I didn't hop onto a time machine, that it's been thirty years for you and that the world has gone to hell. Lets just... enjoy this moment, okay?"

He wrapped his remaining arm around her, the bristles of his gray beard tickling her face. "Okay," he murmured so softly it was practically a whisper. "Okay, Sara."

The Green Arrow and the Canary were reunited once again. And neither one seemed keen on letting the other go.


	2. Chapter 2

For a long time, Oliver and Sara avoided the subject of what had happened in his past and what would happen in her future. They talked about small things, happy to ignore the obvious. If only to spare them both pain.

They avoided the past. Sara didn't ask about the fates of their friends, or even the doomed fate of their home, and Oliver was more than happy to not discuss it.

Instead, they just _talked._

They talked about Sara's new gear. Oliver was particularly interested in the light-weight futuristic Kevlar. He did get a bit upset about the breathability.

"That's not fair that it's breathable!" He complained. "I had to literally peel my suit off after each patrol."

Sara just laughed at his petulance. "That's what happens when you stick with leather and Kevlar. And, I had to deal with that too, you know! My Canary suit was made up of the same material, so don't complain."

"And don't get me started on the smell. I was in near tears when Curtis put a high-pressure shower in here."

"Near tears?" She jabbed him in the side with her elbow. "I seem to remember some misty eyes when he told us. What did you say as an excuse, again?"

"Oh god, please don-"

"-It's just allergies, Holt." Sara said, dropping her voice into a low, gravely mock growl of Oliver's voice. She burst out into laughter. "Allergies. Really, Ollie? That's the best you could come up with?"

"I've been looking for years for breathable materials that can take a round of bullets.

"Remember that time I threatened Barry's friend? Cisco?"

She vaguely remembered it. "Didn't you threaten to shoot him in the leg so he would make you a suit?"

Oliver nodded his head, his lips twisted in a grim smile. "Shooting people in the leg always works." He replied sagely.

Sara burst out in laughter, her whole body practically shaking. Oliver just winked at her, giving her a genuine smile.

Once Sara gained control of her emotions, Sara couldn't help but pause in thought. _I'm happy right now_. She realized. _Oliver is here, right beside me. When was the last time I was genuinely happy?_

It had to have been at least before her death. Life after the Pit seemed gray and monotone; it just wasn't as memorable and vibrant as life Before.

 _I've missed him._

If she didn't look at him and ignored the state of the Foundry, she could just pretend that it was still 2016. Maybe if she closed her eyes, she could trick herself into thinking that the Legends had achieved their goal and stopped Savage, and that she was back home. She was back in her timeline, just hanging out in the Foundry, leaning against a wall with her Oliver, just talking.

"Tell me about time travel. Is it as its shown in the movies?"

Sara laughed, her head resting against the crook of his neck, her body pressed against his side.

"A little bit," she admitted. "It's not as flashy or dramatic as some movies portray it, but it is quite a sight. It's like…" she struggled for words to describe the feeling of moving through time and space, of turning back the clock. "Like something is tugging at your gut, pulling you towards some great unknown."

"It must be quite a feeling," Oliver mused.

She smiled. "Like nothing I've ever felt before."

"What about the ship?" He asked eagerly. "Is it more 'Millennium Falcon' or 'Enterprise'?"

"You know that neither of those ships are time machines, right?"

She had forgotten how un-nerdy Oliver had been, and apparently still was.

"It is its own type of ship, Oliver. We call it the _Waverider._ I don't really know why Rip named it that. Maybe Time flows like the waves of an ocean, rippling across reality? It's a bit too sciency for me to really understand."

Oliver hummed, "I remember the ship. Looked pretty high tech to me."

Sara scoffed at what she considered an understatement. Clearly, Oliver still wasn't adept in technology even in this timeline. "It's considered a technical and scientific miracle in a time where sentient A.I. are considered the norm."

"Hey, that's what I said…"

Chuckling softly, Sara opened her eyes again, staring up at the support beams. "It's unbelievable. Time travel is… indescribable. To have the ability to go to any time period, to see the past unravel and the future unfold before your very eyes… what a power…"

"It sounds amazing." Oliver said. Though she wasn't looking at him, Sara could feel his eyes on her. Unable to help herself, she turned to face him. He was so close to her that Sara could see every wrinkle on his face. His hair was more silver than gray at a closer look, and it looked so soft that she wanted to touch the thinning strands. But she held back, afraid of this reality. He was so old now. Was he really even her Ollie?

 _He's aged thirty years… He's older than Robert Queen when he died._

For some reason, despite being well used to time travel by now, the realization struck her like a ton of bricks.

 _Thirty years…_

"Sara?" His hand enveloped hers, his fingers rough and callused. So familiar, if not for the wrinkles and the, new to her but long since faded, scars. Sara couldn't help but stare at his missing limb. So much had changed in her absence.

She looked at him wistfully, "A power, and a curse; it seems."

His face, already so tired and weary, fell.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to come home…"

The grip on her hand tightened.

"You're here now," Oliver said, a small smile playing at his lips. "That's all I need."

The pain in her heart throbbed, aching as much as the bloodlust that had plagued her since her dip in the Lazarus pit. To think that some other agony could match the turmoil brewing within her…

Perhaps, after dying and going off with Rip and the Legends, Sara had forgotten how much the man beside her had meant to her.

Their fingers interlocked together, both of them holding on tight. "I'm here now," Sara agreed. "I'm here, Ollie."

* * *

Many things could be said about Leonard Snart and Mick Rory.

They were ruthless in their line of work, with no fickle morals or second-doubts holding them back. They did what they did with great success; their partnership was iron-tight despite their differences in behavior.

In a world where the saying ' _No honor amongst thieves'_ was its very foundation, Leonard Snart and Mick Rory stuck together.

In a sense, they were a package deal.

But still, at the moment, Leonard was wondering if it was time to ditch his partner in crime and sneak into the closest dark alleyway and disappear. He had never left Rory behind, even before they 'joined' the Legends, but he was considering it if only because of the situation they were in.

Their little excursion into the wasteland that was Star City was supposed to be simple: find Palmer Industries (now Smoak Technologies), avoid the locals, steal the device needed to fix the _Waverider_ , and get out.

And yet…

It was always ' _and yet'_ nowadays, if Leonard really thought about it.

They had been ambushed by a bunch of wild gang members whose getup seemed to be a mixture of Mad Max and cheap steampunk. The thieves, along with Rip Hunter and Sara, had taken shelter in a bus, only to be separated in the chaos. And then, when they had tried to make a break for it back to the _Waverider_ , they had been ambushed.

 _They_ , the infamous thieves known as Captain Cold and Heatwave, had tried to be mugged by an amateur wannabe criminal gang leader. It was almost hilarious, until Rory acted.

Rory, ever impulsive, had burned the apparent gang leader to char when the man had foolishly tried to threaten them. Instead of turning their weapons on the two thieves, the gang had bestowed the title of leader onto Mick. Because apparently that's how succession works now. And, of course, Rory had accepted without consulting his partner.

Mick was taking the new position rather well.

Dressed up in the fur suit of the old leader, Rory's first act as gang leader had been to throw a _party_ of all things. And Rory's new minions had simply cheered and happily obeyed.

So now, here Leonard was, stewing in the background of the club, hidden away by the bar while nursing a drink. It tasted terrible, but he needed the alcohol to deal with the upcoming headache.

 _Rory, you absolute imbecile._ Snart thought, draining the last drops.

Bored out of his mind, he watched and learned. The majority of the gang was dancing to terrible techno music, drinking and dancing against another as though it were the end of the world. One of them had two pistols, semi-automatic by the looks of it, clipped into twin holsters. A girl passionately sticking her tongue down another man's throat had a firearm against her hip and a knife alongside her leg. The ones that weren't dancing or drinking were patrolling the perimeter, hands on their weapons.

A quick mental consideration showed that, despite their debaucherously, idiotic attitude, they weren't as stupid as they appeared. They at least appeared ready for a fight at any moment.

And the sober ones kept looking at him…

Leonard _knew_ those looks.

They were studying him, just as he had studied them. Snart didn't like people trying to figure out his secrets. He didn't like that kind of attention, which might have been surprising if someone looked at his profile.

Being the best of the best, it wasn't too far of a stretch to say that both thieves were vain and prideful. Despite their efficiency in the art of stealth, both men had a flair for the dramatics.

Leonard Snart loved attention. He craved it like he craved stealing priceless artifacts and outsmarting others. He liked to have his moment in the spotlight to be short-lived, but glorious. A dramatic climax that, while brief, was unforgettable to those who witnessed it.

But this? This was akin to being looked at from under a microscope.

That small window in the bathroom was looking rather tempting now…

Before Leonard could weigh his options, his partner in crime and the newfound 'leader' of these degenerate idiots became heard by a loud yell.

"Snart!" Rory came up to him, still wearing that ridiculous fur coat that looked like something a wealthy old lady would wear back during the Roaring Twenties. And was that a _chalice_ in his hand? A girl with disheveled hair and an ungodly amount of dark eyeshadow was tucked away at his side.

"Your Highness," the words came out in a biting drawl.

Mick stopped in his tracks at his friend's tone. Even if he had been drinking as much as his new 'minions' had, he knew Leonard enough to know when he was genuinely angry.

"Why are you upset," Rick asked, honestly befuddled. "We have everything we could ever want here. Resources, power, respect, and people who do everything we tell them to."

"Telling your new friends to drink like it's the end of the world is one thing, but do you really expect them to die for you? Or even listen to you if they don't like what they hear?"

Mick frowned and looked at him with suspicion. "Is this because I didn't give you the chalice?"

"Mick…"

"Because I'm the leader, and the leader gets the chalice." He said defensively.

"Mick," Leonard sighed, rubbing his temples.

"Come on, Timeman," the girl purred in Rory's ear. "Let's go dance."

Snart's eyebrows furrowed dangerously low. "Timeman?" He asked, voice ice cold.

 _Had Rory…?_

If Rory had told some random criminal that he had access to time travel, and that he wasn't even from this time period, because he was drunk and hoping to get laid…

Not even friendship would save Heatwave from becoming a block of ice.

"Mick…" Snart began, his face contorting into a sneer. "Tell me you didn't tell your new… friend… something you shouldn't have."

The man shifted uncomfortably. He looked so ridiculous in that coat.

"The real question is what have you _not_ told your new friend?"

Mick blinked. "I didn't tell her about the cortex device that we need to get back home."

"Rory!"

"What?"

Snart resisted the urge to throttle his thick-headed, impulsive friend. So, instead of murdering his partner, Snart took a deep breath, straightened his coat, and decided that it was in fact time to leave. He headed for the stairs, ignoring his friend's eyesight.

"Wait, you're leaving already?" Mick called after him, looking a bit hurt.

"I've better things to do with my time. Watching you pant and paw after this gal isn't productive for me," Leonard drawled out, eying his partner in crime with a small amount of disdain. He had never been one to lose his professionalism while under a job; Rory, in Leonard's mind, shouldn't forget that they still had an object to steal. "Besides, we need to meet up with our friends if we ever want to go home."

With that said, the infamous Captain Cold left his partner alone in the club. Mick watched him go with a befuddled frown, trying to appear that he wasn't bothered with his friend's sudden departure and yet was obviously failing.

The frown turned into an angry scowl, and Mick suddenly downed the chalice's contents in one go. In his anger, he didn't notice that his female companion had left his seen.

And so, he also didn't see her slip away outside, pull out a phone and put it to her ear.

"I have information about these new visitors that Green Arrow saved, I think Deathstroke would be interested to hear it." She spoke into the phone.

There was silence for a moment. And then there was the sound of the phone passing hands. And then…

" _Tell me."_ A male voice Australian accent spoke.

The woman smiled, and began to inform Deathstroke all she had learned, especially the tidbit of time travel and that they needed to find some sort of cortex device.

There was a small laugh on the other end of the line. A chuckle that send the hairs on the woman's neck rise. Deathstroke spoke again, thanking her for her loyalty.

Now aware that, while the Legends were apparent time travelers, they were stranded in unfamiliar territory with no way out.

" _I promise you, I'll put this information to use."_ He assured her.

Then he hung up.


End file.
